Read on, it's good for the brain.

Month: March 2018

He stood on a drop of water at seven years old looking at mushrooms growing on the shower wall. Wanting to know why they continue. Why does anything. There was no steam, not this time. He didn’t need to hide. The boy watched the shower water swirl down the drain. Wondering if Death ever asks permission. The mushrooms bloomed.

I stare at nothing-
Sometimes I
Need to go-
During my childhood
In my four walls
In my jail cell
I didn’t take myself serious until
I took myself serious
Even though I always
Took myself
Too serious
I fought everything
Had to
Blood tells truth
It’s never over
Finally though
I found something
It’s hard to explain
A wind never can be twice
what it was once

We looked in the mirror to rest now. Without you there would be no us. A nine year old held still, silently wishing. Scraping memory. It’s not living in the past when a trigger forces you live the past now. A hollowed tree bore resemblance to a face we once knew. The tree was dead now.

Now I am going to read a word-
The first letter is a snake
The second is a line with three more lines
The third is a line with a foot
The fourth is much like the second
but with one and half less lines-
I remember sitting on the beach in Westerly, RI
It was October
The wind was cold, the ocean was grey
I sat with my back against boulders
with the distinct feeling that I needed to leave
I had the ridiculous thought that the ocean wanted me
for something I couldn’t come back from
I corrected myself
An ocean is not alive and cannot think about this
Yet, the foam from the last wave tried to touch my feet
I pulled them closer to my sitting body
I was alone on the beach
I thought of how it might be for a rogue wave to snatch
me, dragging me to an emptiness that is real
and I thought of how I would be the only one to know-
The ocean looked more aggressive than when I had first sat
The waves seemed to be larger, gathering
I swatted away the feeling of realism pinching at the back of my neck
I am a selfish me thinking alone on a beach
that an ocean would care enough to snatch and drag me anywhere
while needing to note, internally, that I was alone and no one would know
except the grey ocean and large waves with foam-
I needed to feel something in my hands and ignore what wasn’t happening
A splintered rock helped me to carve a word into a boulder
A word that without meaning would mean anything I could possibly want it to mean
without being told, or guided, or scolded into what it was
No, this word was mine and I chose to let it be mine without permission-
I saw a dark horizontal line out in the ocean, a bulge almost. Was that a wave?
My heart quickened. I needed to leave.
I started walking, waves now reached my feet with ease, I pushed
further up onto the beach, the waves came for me
The dark line was closer
I ran
SELF is a blundering epiphany